


so we sing carols softly, as sweet as we know

by Marcia Elena (marciaelena)



Category: 9-1-1 (TV)
Genre: Christmas, First Kiss, Fluff and Angst, Getting Together, Love Confessions, M/M, POV Eddie Diaz (9-1-1), Romance, Snow in LA, They're a Family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-28
Updated: 2019-12-28
Packaged: 2021-02-24 20:40:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22004134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marciaelena/pseuds/Marcia%20Elena
Summary: It's going to be a white Christmas in LA.Day 25 of the 2019 Buddie Christmas Advent. Written for the prompt #Snowmageddon2019.
Relationships: Christopher Diaz & Eddie Diaz (9-1-1), Evan "Buck" Buckley & Christopher Diaz, Evan "Buck" Buckley & Eddie Diaz & Christopher Diaz, Evan "Buck" Buckley/Eddie Diaz
Comments: 38
Kudos: 359
Collections: 25 Days Of Buddie





	so we sing carols softly, as sweet as we know

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to go up on the 25th, so I'm three days late, ugh. Apparently I conjured up the storms I was writing about in this story and they took down the power lines in my neighborhood.
> 
> Also, it looks like I have a thing for Buck and Eddie wearing each other's clothes; I keep writing that into my Buddie fics. (Or maybe it's my inner Eddie; Buck might want to know what they'd smell like together, but Eddie wants to make Buck feel _owned_. He's possessive that way.) In any case, here's my entry into the 2019 Buddie Christmas Advent. My prompt was #Snowmageddon2019.
> 
> Happy 2020, everyone.

The storm blows in from the north, a cold front that rolls over and past the San Gabriel mountains and envelops LA in a wintry embrace. Weather forecasters talk about climate change and the equally upsetting prospect of Santa Claus failing to recognize Los Angeles from the air once it's hidden under a blanket of frost; there's enough warning to prepare if anyone had been of a mind to listen, but the last time snow had touched the ground in the city was January of 1962, and even then it had been nothing more than a light dusting that melted away almost as quickly as it settled. From civilians to the municipal authorities, hardly anyone believes it. It won't snow, they say. And if it snows it won't reach the ground. And if it does reach the ground it'll be gone in an hour.

December 24th dawns grim and gray, the sky hidden behind a mass of rain-heavy clouds. And rain it does, a freezing downpour that heralds a miserable holiday and, on the surface, perfectly contradicts the promise of a white Christmas. 

That's how they find Buck standing on Eddie's doorstep in a shallow puddle all his own when Christopher opens the door to greet him. 

"Buck!" Christopher says with his usual enthusiasm. "Oh," he continues. "You're dripping." 

Standing behind his son, Eddie can't help laughing. "That he is, mijo." 

"It's not funny," Buck complains. The lovely pout on his face turns into a grimace as he shivers rather violently.

Eddie's heart skips a beat or two. "Seriously, Buck," he says, taking the duffel bag from Buck's hand and dragging him into the house. "Come inside already."

Ten minutes later Buck's dry and shiver-free, wearing clothes that he's borrowed from Eddie, a pair of faded black jeans and a maroon henley that hugs his shoulders and chest and arms in all the right places. The central heating is doing an adequate job of keeping the house cozy even as the temperature outside has dropped to the mid thirties, but that doesn't account for the lingering glow in Eddie's gut. 

"I don't get it," Buck's saying. "All I did was grab my overnight bag from the backseat and then sprint from my jeep to the porch. That's not long enough to get that wet."

"Except apparently it is," Eddie says. Rain beats down harder on the roof, wind rattling the windows in agreement. 

Buck heaves a dramatic sigh. "Not even the weather's on my side," he mumbles. As if that wasn't obvious. 

" _I'm_ on your side, Buck," Christopher says. 

"You are, huh?" Buck slides down from the couch to sit next to Christopher on the rug, pulling the kid to him in a one-armed hug and ruffling his hair. "Thanks for always being there for me, bud." He shoots Eddie a teasing glance. "Unlike some people who call themselves my best friend."

Eddie snorts. "You two have fun here," he says, eyeing the jumble of legos scattered about the rug and coffee table as he stands up. "I'll be in the kitchen working on our lunch."

"Hear that, Christopher? We've been fired from our sous chef positions. On Christmas eve, no less."

"Buck," Eddie says. He wonders if it's possible to expire from an acute case of fondness. "Save a little holiday cheer for New Year's."

Christopher giggles. The grin that Buck aims at Eddie is devastating. "Does that mean I'm invited then too? Aw, you're totally feeling guilty for leaving me all alone in LA on Christmas day in this sad, sad weather, admit it."

That hits too close to home, and Eddie can't formulate a clever reply. "Just help Chris build something, will you? I'll make hot cocoa and bring out snacks, too."

"I want marshmallows," Christopher says.

"Marshmallows are a great idea. I also want a candy cane stick for my cocoa," Buck tells Eddie. He grins again. "And whipped cream?"

"And chocolate sprinkles!" Christopher adds, laughing when Buck high-fives him.

Eddie flees into the kitchen for fear of dissolving into a flesh and blood mess that will forever stain the living room floor. 

The rain doesn't let up as he makes two cups of extra fancy hot cocoa for Christopher and Buck. It doesn't let up when he leaves a tray with the requested beverages and a mix of holiday cookies on the coffee table for them before beating a hasty retreat back into the kitchen. It doesn't let up as he listens to his boys while he cooks, their constant chatter softer than the deluge outside but demanding his attention in a way that not even those wild forces of nature can compete with.

His boys. The thought comes easily to Eddie, adoring and possessive all at once. He wishes then, for the umpteenth time, that he and Christopher weren't bound to El Paso tomorrow to spend Christmas day with their family.

It's not that Eddie doesn't miss them or doesn't want to see them. It's that he feels that the two most important people in his life are right here, sitting on the rug in the living room just two dozen steps away from him. It's that he _knows_ (deep in his bones like an ache that twists and flares and never ever relents) that this is the family that the three of them have built together out of shared joys and traumas alike.

This is the family of his heart.

The pozelo that Eddie's preparing is just about ready when something about the rain changes. It takes him a moment to understand what it is: it _sounds_ different. Before it had been a wall of white noise, an incessant cascading that was somehow hazy and loud at the same time. Now it's heavier, sluggish wet plops that stick and slide against the windowpanes when they hit.

"Sleet." Buck's voice comes from right behind Eddie and it makes his stomach flutter. 

He stirs the pozelo. "You think it's gonna snow after all?"

"It's starting to look like it," Buck says. He presses against Eddie's back and tucks his chin over Eddie's shoulder to peer into the pot, hand on Eddie's waist. "Smells really good," Buck murmurs, breath ghosting against Eddie's ear.

There's no way for Eddie to suppress the full body shudder that runs through him then. "It's a Mexican dish," he manages to say.

"Hmmm," Buck hums, still too close to Eddie's ear. "Mexican's my favorite."

Eddie grips the wooden spoon so tightly in his hand it's a wonder it doesn't snap. It's only with an effort that he refrains from asking Buck if kitchens make him horny.

They eat in the kitchen, bent over their steaming bowls at the breakfast bar and not saying much beyond murmured comments about the food and the weather. It's small talk, but not the kind meant to fill awkward silences; they simply enjoy their meal, as relaxed and comfortable as any three people can be.

Christopher's eyelids are drooping once they're done. He sways on his perch atop his stool and Buck and Eddie both reach for him at the same time, Eddie's hand landing on top of Buck's on Christopher's back. Neither one of them pulls away. 

"I think it's time for a nap, kid," Eddie says in a gentle tone.

Christopher sways again. "Don't wanna."

"So you'd rather fall asleep right before dinner and miss our movie night?" Buck says. He glances at Eddie, an _I've got this_ look in his eyes and a tender smile on his face. 

Eddie lets him. He watches as Buck gathers Christopher to him, watches his son lean his head against Buck's shoulder, glasses askew and one arm around Buck's neck. The implicit love in that scene is something that Eddie's witnessed before, but it's the kind of emotional sucker punch that floors him each and every time just like the first. 

In less than half an hour Christopher's tucked in and dreaming and the kitchen's tidied up and ready for more cooking. Buck and Eddie sit side by side on the couch in the living room, arms and thighs brushing against each other's. 

"Did you drug our food? 'Cause I'm pretty drowsy too." Buck yawns and leans heavily against Eddie, as if trying to prove his claim on said drowsiness.

Eddie smiles. He turns his head and feels Buck's hair tickle his nose as Buck burrows against his shoulder. "It's just a hearty dish," he murmurs. "And Chris woke up before six this morning, he was that excited to see you. What's your excuse?"

"Do I still get away with cuddling if I don't have one?" The silence that follows is a breathless one. "I'm always excited to see you," Buck says softly, so softly, like he's confessing his most private truth. "You and him both, Eddie."

And what else can Eddie do if not reciprocate? "Me too," he whispers. He wants to slide his hand over Buck's thigh and leave it there, wants to rub his cheek against Buck's hair. He wants to trail kisses along Buck's face, starting at Buck's brow and ending at the corner of Buck's mouth, taste Buck's lips with his and find out if they're as pliant and sweet as he imagines them to be. 

"I wish today didn't have to end," Buck says. "Christmas was always my favorite holiday and getting to spend even just part of it with you guys, I- it means a lot." He raises his head from Eddie's shoulder and smiles into Eddie's eyes. "What if I refuse to drive you to the airport?"

Eddie's hand twitches in his lap. He swallows thickly. "I wish Chris and I didn't have that flight to catch in the morning. More than anything I wish we could stay, Buck."

The smile on Buck's face gives way to something that looks an awful lot like resignation. "It's fine, Eddie. I know you have to go. Your whole family's down there waiting for you."

 _The only family I want is right here_ , Eddie thinks. He swallows again, skitters his gaze away from Buck's as his eyes sting. 

"And anyway, it's not your fault that by some bizarre coincidence everyone's out of the state for Christmas this year. I hope Maddie's having the time of her life with Chim in Hawaii, she deserves it, they both do. I'll just- I'll catch up on some sleep," Buck says. "Maybe I'll go watch the new Star Wars."

Eddie risks a glance at him. "Are you a fan?"

"Uh, I've seen a couple? How many are there, like maybe five or six?"

The inexplicable happiness that takes a hold of Eddie's chest has laughter bubbling up his throat. "Try eleven," he says. "More if you count the ones made for TV."

"Oh."

"Christopher loves them," Eddie tells Buck. "The ones he's seen, anyway. We should have a marathon soon. He'll be happy to teach you everything you never knew you wanted to know about Luke Skywalker and the Force."

"Awesome," Buck says. He's smiling at Eddie again. "It's a date."

"Yeah," Eddie agrees. "It's a date." For a moment out of time they hold each other's gazes again and Eddie feels like he could lose himself in the blue of Buck's eyes. Though more and more lately it's been feeling like he could find himself in Buck instead.

Buck sighs, a contented sound. He blinks, eyelashes fluttering, turns his attention onto the Christmas tree in the corner of the room. "You know," he murmurs. "Christmas trees weren't meant to just stand there all decked up but without any presents underneath it." 

It's a strange thing, the pang of sorrow in Eddie's gut. All of a sudden it feels as if Buck and his poor neglected Christmas tree have too much in common. Eddie wants to kneel down at Buck's feet and promise him absolutely _everything_.

At the very least, Buck deserves a confession. "My parents did everything they could think of to guilt-trip me into being there with Christopher by this evening. Nochebuena is kind of a big deal for them. But I wanted to be here with you, Buck. Chris wanted to be here with you. I booked the latest flight I could find that would still put us in El Paso on Christmas morning."

When Buck turns to stare at Eddie again it's with an incredulous look on his face. "You delayed for _me_?"

Eddie nods. He doesn't trust himself to handle any more words right then.

A hush falls around them and Eddie realizes it's stopped raining. There's a stillness in the air, a sense of something monumental about to happen. Even the wind seems to be holding its breath.

It's in that stillness that they hear the tap-tapping of Christopher's crutches in the hallway. 

"Hey, little man," Buck calls, smiling at Eddie as he speaks. "That was the shortest nap anyone's ever taken."

"I wanna play with you, Buck," Christopher announces as he comes into the living room. 

"I have a better idea," Eddie says. "How about the two of you join me in the kitchen and help me get Christmas dinner ready?"

Christopher tilts his head. "But you fired us, Dad."

Buck laughs, delighted. "Looks like he's hiring again, Chris. I guess your dad realized he's just hopeless without us." 

_God help me, I am_ , Eddie thinks. Utterly and inconsolably hopeless without them. 

The kitchen feels warmer and brighter with Buck and Christopher there, joking and giggling as they peel and chop vegetables. Eddie tackles the onions, and that's the only reason why he keeps blinking tears out of his eyes.

It's late afternoon by the time the pork loin's ready to go into the oven and Chris ambles into the living room to watch cartoons. Buck's wiping the counters and Eddie's putting the last of the kitchen tools they used away when Christopher calls, a note of awe in his voice.

"Dad! Buck!"

They hurry into the living room and find Chris by the window, transfixed by the sight on the other side of it.

It's snowing, postcard-pretty flakes that spin in graceful swirls in the air and pile up gently on the ground.

"Can I go play outside, Dad? I wanna build a snowman. "

Eddie squeezes Christopher's shoulder. "I'm sorry, mijo, but you don't have the right kind of clothes to play in the snow. I don't want you getting sick."

Christopher sighs, a sad breath that alights briefly on the windowpane, as ephemeral as a butterfly. Eddie looks at Buck and Buck looks at Eddie; a sense of shared sympathy passes between them. 

"The snow's really really cold, you know," Buck says, and he crouches down next to Christopher, resting his hand on the kid's chest. "It looks nice and fluffy when you're just looking at it, but when you're in it it's not like that. You need thick warm clothes and special boots, too, 'cause you don't wanna slip and fall, right?"

"I guess," Chris says. "Falling isn't any fun."

"Yeah, no, it's not," Buck agrees. "But I'll tell you what. I'll get you all the stuff you need so you'll stay warm and dry, and your dad and I, we'll take you somewhere with lots of snow where you can play all you want. We'll do that soon, okay?" And Buck looks up at Eddie, hope and trepidation trembling in his eyes.

Eddie's heart is in his throat. He can feel it there, beating a frantic rhythm as it's squeezed tight in a space too small for it, keeping air from coming into his lungs and keeping any sounds from coming out of his mouth. He squeezes Christopher's shoulder again, his eyes not leaving Buck's. "Soon," he says, lightheaded as he regains his voice.

Together they watch the snow fall, Buck on his feet again, fingers running through Christopher's messy curls. Something buzzes under Eddie's skin, burns behind his eyes, makes him reckless; he raises his hand to comb through Christopher's hair too, letting his fingers tangle with Buck's. They hold on to each other like that for a fleeting instant, not even long enough for Christopher to register anything amiss. 

"I need to go save half of our dinner from getting ruined," Eddie says. He doesn't meet Buck's eyes with his when he turns and marches back into the kitchen. He's that afraid of never wanting to look at anything else ever again. 

The world outside is quiet. The TV starts playing in the background, and when Eddie peeks into the living room he sees Buck and Christopher cuddled together on the couch. He stays busy in the kitchen, taking care not to drop anything when his hands keep shaking. 

Dinnertime arrives. Eddie sets the table and Buck follows Christopher into his bedroom to help him put on his holiday outfit. 

"Daddy's got one just like it," Christopher's telling Buck when they come back to the living room. He tugs at his new sweater, showing off the busy red and white and blue Fair Isle pattern on it. "I picked it for us."

"And you did such a great job too, Chris. This is the best sweater ever. Now I'm wishing I had one too," Buck says, sounding more than a little wistful.

Eddie steps into Buck's line of vision; he's changed into his matching sweater too. "Looks like you're on the nice list this year if Santa's granting your wishes," he says, handing Buck a wrapped present. "This is from the both of us."

"Merry Christmas, Buck," Christopher says, beaming up at him. 

Buck grins at them, tears brimming in his eyes. "You got one for me too?" He rips the wrapping paper off in his hurry to get at what's under it. The sound he makes when he lifts his own matching sweater from the box could be laughter; it could also be a sob. 

"We thought you'd want to look ridiculous with us," Eddie says. 

"You thought right," Buck says. He slips the sweater over his head and then turns in a circle, a wide smile on his face. "So what's the verdict?" 

Christopher giggles. "Ri-di-cu-lous," he says. 

"Adorable," Eddie corrects his son. 

All three of them are wearing matching smiles too as they sit down to eat. 

Outside the snow keeps falling while the evening goes on, big fat flakes now but just a blur through the fogged up windows. After dinner they move to the couch to watch Shazam, and Buck grabs a plastic bag from his duffel and vanishes into the kitchen for a whole fifteen minutes, only to reemerge with a huge bowl of- _something_. It certainly looks festive.

"It's Christmas crunch popcorn," Buck says. "See, it's popcorn but it's mixed with melted marshmallows and mini pretzels and mini Christmas M&M's. And rainbow sprinkles."

"Gross," Christopher says. 

He and Buck eat the whole bowl. 

Christopher stays awake until the movie's over through sheer force of will. Buck and Eddie both tuck him in and then settle back on the couch because Buck insists that Christmas isn't Christmas without Die Hard. So Buck watches Bruce Willis and Eddie watches Buck, commits to his memory how beautiful his best friend looks with the lights on the tree twinkling behind him. 

It's past midnight when the credits start rolling. Buck groans and stretches and his sweater and shirt hike up his torso, exposing more than a hint of fair skin. Eddie prays for mercy. 

"I didn't mean for it to get so late," Buck says as he turns to face Eddie. 

Resting his head back against the couch, Eddie sighs. He's tired, but he's happy, too. "I could've gone to bed," he says. He looks at Buck. "I'm not sorry I stayed up."

Buck smiles, almost shy. "This was hands down the most amazing Christmas I ever had."

Eddie doesn't know why that makes him want to cry. 

He doesn't want to go to bed, but he does. They all need to be up again in less than four hours.

At 2:17 AM his phone vibrates on his bedside table. Eddie reaches for it, then squints at how bright the screen is in the total darkness of the room. He rubs at his eyes and blinks. Brings up the message that woke him up.

It's an alert from the airline app letting him know that his flight's been canceled. 

Eddie frowns. He sits up in bed, shivering as his blankets pool in his lap. The airline's website offers him the same limited information. He calls customer service then, and they tell him that LAX is closed due to extreme weather conditions. All flights have been canceled until further notice. 

He checks local news websites. There are reports of numerous traffic accidents, some including fire trucks, ambulances and police cars that had been rushing to respond to calls. Roads are closed everywhere. Power lines across the city have been brought down by ice and fallen tree branches. 

The chill in the air suddenly makes sense to Eddie. "Shit," he mutters under his breath. 

The lights in his room don't come on when he tries them. The lights in the hallway are just as unresponsive. 

Christopher feels snug enough under the covers in his bed, but Eddie scoops him up anyway, blankets and all. The room feels cold without the heating unit spilling warmth into it--it's going to get even colder.

"Buck," Eddie whispers when he comes into the living room. The Christmas tree is as dark as the rest of the house. 

There's a slow exhale from the couch, and then Buck's bolting up into a sitting position. "Eddie? What's wrong? Is- is Christopher okay?"

"He's fine." The panic in Buck's voice has tripped up Eddie's pulse, and he tries to sound as soothing as he can. "But the power's out. And my flight's been canceled."

"Oh."

"Come on, grab your blankets and get up," Eddie murmurs. Christopher stirs in his arms but doesn't wake. "We're all sleeping in my bed tonight."

"Oh," is all Buck says again. But he gets up and walks after Eddie through the darkened house and into his bedroom. 

Eddie puts Chris down in the middle of the bed and tucks in his blankets. "Lie down, Buck. We'll figure everything out in the morning."

Buck lies down. "Did you call your parents yet?"

"In the morning," Eddie repeats. 

He gets back in bed and spreads his blankets over the three of them, and Buck does the same. They both cuddle Christopher between them, Buck's arm going around the kid, full of care. 

"Goodnight," Eddie whispers. He rests his arm on top of Buck's under the blankets, hand wrapped loosely around Buck's shoulder. He feels Buck tense and relax all in the space of a second. 

Eddie's not sure if he can fall asleep. But apparently he does, because his next moment of awareness comes when he wakes up to find that Buck's not in bed with them anymore. His phone tells him it's 5:44 AM.

"Buck?" Eddie murmurs. He's not expecting a response and he doesn't get one. 

It's still dark. Eddie presses his hand against Christopher's chest to feel the rise and fall of his breaths, the treasured beat of his heart. It's something he used to do every night after coming back from Afghanistan; something he started doing again after the tsunami. He thinks of Buck's hands on Christopher, how they're always so tender, the strength that Eddie knows they hold made more powerful by the reverence that they show. He thinks of Buck's love for this beautiful, beautiful boy and he knows that it's not any different from the love he himself feels. 

It's a father's love for his son. 

He kisses Christopher's forehead, leaves him warm and asleep under all the blankets and goes in search of Buck. Finds him kneeling by the Christmas tree.

"Evan?" Eddie says. 

"Eddie." Buck turns as he stands up. "Sorry, uh, did I- did I wake you?"

"I don't know," Eddie says. He lets a smile touch his lips, lets it bleed into his tone so Buck will know it's there. "Did you?"

It's hard to tell in the gloom, but Buck seems confused by the question. "I tried being quiet," he says. 

Eddie can't remember hearing any noises. What woke him up wasn't an unexpected sound in the night. It was Buck's absence from his bed. 

"What are you doing here, Buck? It's cold, aren't you cold?" The urge to make sure that Buck's warm enough is overwhelming all of a sudden. Eddie steps closer and draws him into his arms.

Buck is _freezing_. Eddie's shocked by it, the cold seeping into him quick and brutal, Buck's arms forming a tentative half circle around him. 

"What the hell?" Eddie tightens his hold around Buck, rubs his hands up and down Buck's back in an effort to warm him up. Buck shakes against him and Eddie doesn't think it's only because he's cold. 

"I didn't want Chris to wake up in the morning and have nothing to open," Buck whispers. His nose and lips feel cold too as they brush against Eddie's neck but his breath is warm, even if a little unsteady. "I was gonna come back here after you guys boarded your flight and leave what I got for him under the tree for you to find when you came back tomorrow, but now you're not going and all his presents are in Texas and I couldn't let Chris think that Santa doesn't know that he ended up staying home." 

Eddie looks at the spot where Buck had been kneeling not five minutes ago. Angular shapes emerge from the shadows, neatly grouped and stacked together. 

Presents. There are presents under the tree. Presents that Buck must have been keeping in his jeep. 

"Buck," Eddie says. "Tell me you didn't go outside in your pajamas."

"Uh." Buck's hesitation is all the admission that Eddie needs. "I put on my boots?"

And Eddie laughs. He laughs and holds Buck in a crushing embrace, tears springing to his eyes. "How can you be so infuriating? You drive me crazy," he rasps. 

"I don't mean to," Buck says. His lips feel warmer on Eddie's neck now, his arms around Eddie surer. "I guess now's the time to tell you I made kind of a mess in your kitchen?"

"A mess? Were you trying to bake cookies for Santa in the dark?" But the house doesn't smell like cookies, and there's no electricity to power the oven in any case. 

Curious now, Eddie lets Buck go, though only long enough for him to take Buck's hand in his. He doesn't feel like he's crossing any lines that they didn't already erase long ago. Buck's hand is also cold in Eddie's, and that makes Eddie grip it harder. 

"I'll show you," Buck says, leading them into the kitchen. 

Whatever Eddie might have been expecting to find, this wasn't it. Containers filled with water sit on every available surface in the kitchen. Pots on the stove, bowls and bottles on the counters, a bucket on the floor by the sink. 

"When it gets this cold water pipes can burst," Buck explains. "And you don't wanna get stuck without water. We don't know how long it's gonna take for things to go back to normal." He looks at Eddie. "I, uhm, I might've gone a little overboard and filled up the bathtub too."

"We can buy bottled water, Buck."

"Yeah, if you could drive anywhere. And if you were lucky to find a store that hadn't been picked clean yet. But there's like two feet of snow outside. We won't be leaving here anytime soon."

"Two feet of snow?" Eddie's first instinct is to think that Buck's exaggerating. But he doesn't sound like he is. 

Buck squeezes Eddie's hand in his. "It's bad out there, Eddie. Really bad. Not just because everyone's probably snowed in, but because we weren't ready for it. No one salted the roads. Even walking around is gonna be tricky, 'cause there's ice under the snow thanks to all that rain and sleet. My feet almost went out from under me twice when I was outside getting Christopher's presents, and all I did was walk to my jeep and back." He sighs. "Not a lot of people in LA will know how to even start dealing with this. The logistics alone, man, it's going to be a nightmare. And does the city even own any snow plows?"

"I don't think so," Eddie says. He's feeling a little shaken; he hadn't been thinking about any of this.

"They'll have to bring them from out of state, then. So it's gonna be a while until help gets here, and longer until the roads are cleared and they can start working on the power lines. We're on our own for now." 

With this new perspective in mind the pre-dawn darkness feels somber. Eddie wraps Buck in another hug, and Buck responds by holding on just as protectively to Eddie. 

They stand in the cold and the quiet with their arms around each other, saying nothing; not with words. Their hearts beat in counterpoint to one another and Eddie thinks about Christopher, the bright thread of his life that's fastened in loops around Eddie's, tying knots that tug constantly at him, love and fear and guilt and wonder. Eddie's eyes are closed but he can see it so clearly, how that same thread coils all around Buck as well, how the threads of his and Buck's lives are so tangled together too that nothing could unravel them. 

A weight settles on Eddie's chest. Love. Fear. Guilt. Wonder. "You're itching to go out there and help, aren't you?" 

Buck slides a hand down Eddie's back. "Honestly? I'm not."

Eddie blinks in surprise. He raises his head from Buck's shoulder and looks at him. Wan lights filters into the kitchen through the frosted windows. 

"The last time I scrambled to help other people I lost Christopher. There's no way I'm letting either one of you out of my sight."

Eddie smiles gently, trying to quell the sting of tears in his eyes. "What is it with us and natural disasters," he whispers.

Buck smiles too, soft and a little sad. "At least I've got you both with me this time. I swear, Eddie, I won't let anything bad happen to you or Christopher."

"I know," Eddie whispers. And he does. "We'll both make sure you're safe too." He strokes Buck's cheek, feels the scratch of Buck's stubble against his fingers. "Now come back to bed, Evan. You need to keep warm." 

Buck offers him another soft smile. "You keep calling me Evan."

"I-" Eddie has no idea what else to say. "If it makes you uncomfortable I-"

"It doesn't," Buck interrupts.

Eddie waits.

"It just sounds different when you say it." 

"Good different?"

They're still holding on to each other, and Eddie feels Buck sway a little, as if whatever's going through his mind is making him unsteady on his feet. "Amazing different," Buck whispers. "I want- I wanna hear you say it again."

"Evan," Eddie breathes. Watches as Buck closes his eyes. "How about if I call you _mine_."

And there in his kitchen in this pale morning in a city buried under the snow Eddie cups Buck's face between his hands and kisses him, and Buck kisses him back; and that's how Eddie finds out, finally, that Buck's lips are sweeter and more perfect than anything he could ever have dreamed on his own.

"You're my miracle," Eddie whispers against those lips.

"And you're mine," Buck murmurs. "I didn't think I'd ever get to hear you say such sweet things to me." He looks at Eddie, an impish gleam in his eyes. "You're not romancing me only because the world's ending, right?"

Eddie shakes his head. "The world's not ending, Buck. And there's no such thing as _only_ when it comes to me doing anything with you."

They go back to Eddie's bedroom hand in hand, neither one of them feeling the cold anymore. Buck sends a text message to Maddie before shutting off his phone, and Eddie does the same after texting his parents; conserving their batteries seems like the smart thing to do. 

Christopher wakes up when they're both about to crawl in under the blankets. "Dad?" He rubs sleep from his eyes. "Bucky?" There's a confused look on his face as he takes in where he is. "Did we have a sleepover?"

The laughter that follows will linger in their hearts long after the last snows have melted.


End file.
